False Pretense
by CHAILYN
Summary: He thinks that it has something to do with what Ruby said about how big sacrifice is. It doesn't matter, either way, he's not breaking his promise to his brother.
1. Chapter 1

**_False Pretense_**

**_-1-_**

**Note: so, this was going to be a one-shot, but for the love of all the damn thing just keeps growing and I like to keep my one shots under 3000 words and its just not gonna fly with this fic, so im breaking it up into 2-3 parts.**

**Warnings: Now, y'all know I hate warnings because I think they ruin a story so I'm just gonna lay it out like this, language, so is the F-word offend you, don't read and flame me, you're warned. Also NO WINCEST. There is a Wincest version that I wrote, but I felt it was more challenging, and more interesting to tell it from a brotherly perspective; but if you'd really like to read the other version, I will happily send it to you, or if enough people are interested I'll just post it in my wincest fic series "Foreplay" **

**I hope everyone enjoys, I've spent forever on this fic, and I am proud of it, and feedback is love…which I am in desperate need of. So be nice and...love me? **

--

No matter what it took, Sam was _not_ going to break the promise he made to his brother.

He swore that he would get Dean out of that deal…no matter what it took, he promised himself. Dean meant everything to him, he loved him and he refused…he wasn't going to live without his brother.

Live alone. They had taken his mother, and his girlfriend, and his father…but they couldn't take Dean.

He needed Dean; he couldn't do it without Dean. He needed his big brother.

But then the time started flying by and no matter what he tried, what he did, nothing could save him. It was like slowly drowning. Or worse, it was like watching his brother slowly drown and having to watch it, and he couldn't even jump the boat and try to help him.

Sink or swim.

He'd _promised_.

He'd save him like Dean had saved him and looked after him every day of his life.

But then he realized he couldn't, and he didn't know how.

--

He wasn't sure how or when or what made him figure it out.

He thinks that it was something Ruby said about how big sacrifice really was.

And that was when he decided…Dean sacrificed everything for him…he could give up one thing for his big brother.

Even if it had to be his soul.

--

And then that fucking bitch had to screw with him.

"_You're already a demon, Sam, why would I trade that tarnished soul of yours for your brother's?"_

"_Because I'll give you and your boss what you want. She wants me dead, fine." _

"_You know, I can't just play revolving door with your and Dean's souls…it doesn't work that way." _

"_I don't want you to. Dean will never find out…ever." _

"_Tall order…" She seemed to muse on it for a bit, all the while thinking…how the fuck did she get so god damn lucky? The Winchesters were like a goddamned gift. Like a puppy with a big red bow that kept running in front of the moving bus. _

"_Eight months." She offered him, "Your brother lives and you get what you want." _

"_Deal." _

_She closed her lips over his, and sealed the deal._

_She's so redeemed herself with this one._

But it was okay. He saved Dean after all, didn't he?

Just like he promised.

--

It all began the very next morning.

He barely remembered that morning. All he knew was that morning he had gotten up early and hopped in the shower. The next thing he recalled he woke up in a hospital bed with Dean standing over him with the protective edge in his eyes, and looking…_scared_.

No, scared was the wrong word. Dean looked fucking terrified.

"Sammy." Dean said, it all coming out in one big breath, followed by a silent prayer of thanks.

"What'm I doing here?" Sam was confused; _did he get hurt on a hunt_?

Dean half smiled. "Being the _girl_ you are you fainted in the shower…you split your head open on the tiles and were bleeding pretty bad. The doc is running some tests, just to make sure everything is okay…but don't worry Sammy. Everything's going to be okay, I'm looking out for you."

Sam nodded his head. "I know."

He should have known…the bitch didn't waste even a day.

--

It was what Dean used to refer to as chick flick diseases. In the movies that he of course did not ever watch.

(Except sometimes he did, but he'd deny it until the earth fell from the sky, and Sam cut his hair to a decent length; something he'd discovered long ago would equal a sign of the apocalypse.)

An inoperable brain tumor.

All Sam could think was that as far as demons were concerned, there was no accounting for taste, or even the slightest bit of creativity.

--

"Have you ever played any contact sports?" Was the doctor's first question for Sam, upon diagnosis.

"Soccer." Dean answered quickly. "Only when he was a kid though."

She made a note of it on her clipboard. "Have you ever suffered any blows to the head, participated in any contact sports more recently?"

Suddenly Dean tuned out and Sam could see it right in his eyes, all it took was those few little words, that one little moment for him to turn to _this is all my fault. _

Sam answered, shaking his head. "A little football, a few pick up games of basketball with friends in college but that was three years ago, and no bad hits."

Dean was only half listening.

Every hunt…every single one flashed through his mind.

The time in Colorado when the windego threw Sam against the tree and then there was the ghost in Idaho that pushed Sam off of the balcony and the time at the bar in San Francisco when Dean got in a fight with some drunken biker 'cause he was flirting with his girl and Sam jumped in to back him up and the guy cracked his head open with a pool stick…

And then some.

God, this was all his fault. He was supposed to protect Sam. He had promised to protect Sam, that he wouldn't let anything happen to his brother and now Sam was dying and it was his entire fault because he didn't protect him like he said he would. Like he promised his dad, and his mom, that he would.

That he would always look after Sam and not ever let anything bad happen to him.

"_Are you afraid of the monsters, Sammy?" Dean asked his baby brother. "You don't have to be, Mommy says there's nothing that can hurt us as long as she and Daddy are here. And I'll take of you too. I promise nothing bad will happen to you. I'll cake care of you. I'm your big brother, that's my job."_

_Sam gurgled happily as Dean talked to him and by the time Mary had come in to check on the baby, both children had fallen asleep. Dean was curled up in the crib, with Sam carefully curled up against his chest, just the way she had showed him he had to hold his brother._

_Protecting him._

Like he promised Sam, _I won't ever let anything bad happen to you._

When the doctor began to list all the options they had, Dean felt the bile rise up in his throat. He felt nauseous. All he wanted was to cry, for anything, for some magic fix…anything except listening to this doctor explain to them that their were options _somanyoptions_.

When she paused, telling them they should have a moment to think…he told Sam he'd be right back.

Sam knew Dean wasn't okay when he walked out without even a comment about using the sympathy card to have sex with the pretty lady doctor.

--

He felt lucky that he made it as far as the end of the hall, and into the men's room before vomiting his breakfast…

No, not breakfast…Sam had collapsed in the shower and they'd never had breakfast.

…He vomited last nights dinner into the toilet, his fingers clenching the edge of the seat until his knuckles went white and then he slid down to the floor, his back to the stall of the door.

How could he watch his brother die again? He felt a chill run through his body as he rembered, Sam's body and been so cold, and heavy…like lead.

As he saw the dead Sam from his nightmares appear again in his head, he threw up again.

He couldn't…he could _not_ lose Sam again.

He kept seeing Sam lying there, cold, unmoving, unfeeling…not at all Sam. Just dead and gone and he was scared. He could feel the tears slipping down his face but he couldn't even care.

SamSamSam

How could it happen? Why? He'd made his deal, Sam was supposed to be okay. He was supposed to be the one to live and carry it all on. He was going to be the one with a pretty wife, and the house, and the great kids…

This was _not_ supposed to be the way it ended for him.

But he didn't even know how to save him.

He was so scared because…what did he do without Sam?

How could he save Sam? How? How could he fix this when he had nothing, _nothing_ left to bargain with?

_Your gutter soul isn't worth much anyways._

He was down to nothing.

He had no intentions of spending his last months of life in a hospital, and he told her that plainly.

"This isn't a death sentence," She told him, when Sam requested that he be discharged. "This doesn't mean that you give up."

"Damn straight." Dean told his brother, standing in the doorway, forcing himself to believe…there was no other option but for Sam to beat this. Sam wasn't going to die, he couldn't. "What are our options?"

"Your brother's condition is very advanced, so I'd like to begin him on a course of chemotherapy and radiation treatment immediately. However, it is up to your brother just how rigorous of a treatment he'd like to pursue."

"_Currently_, he isn't interested in pursuing the recommended treatment, but there are medications I can prescribe to make him more comfortable." She told Dean, "But in the end…it's up to you. Sam."

_Bullshit…_Sam thought, feeling the slightest of urges to laugh as he looked at Dean

"Bullshit." Dean retorted, looking from Sam to the doctor, and Sam was suddenly so sorry…he knew what this was doing to Dean. He didn't need to have Dean say it to see how scared he really was. That inside he was being ripped apart, and was scared.

This wasn't something he could fight, and it scared the hell out of him.

"Sam, that's crap." He walked over to him and looked straight at him, and for just a moment, Sam didn't see Dean his pain in the ass big brother, but he saw the Dean that had protected him all these years giving him a direct order.

Orders had kept them alive for most of their childhood. Too bad it wouldn't work this time.

"You are not giving up…we've fought way to damn hard, and way to long for you to let something like this beat you. You are _not_ going to."

Modern medicine couldn't beat the devil.

But he didn't care, he did it for Dean. Dean had made plenty of sacrifices for, so Sam could at least give him a little while to try and fight it.

--

He allowed them three months.

Three months of drilling holes in his head, and making attempts and doing all but giving him a pre-frontal lobotomy.

Dean joked frequently about how come Sam got to be Jack Nicholson and why he had to be the Indian.

Sam reminded him that he couldn't ever be the Indian cause he didn't know to shut his mouth long enough to eat a meal.

When Sam slept off the pain killers they gave him, and took him behind those doors where his brother couldn't follow him and assure him that everything, everything would be okay…

Dean would call Bobby and demand that _no, don't you come here. Find me _something_. Find me fucking something to make him better._

Once Bobby told him that there was nothing left…Dean agreed. Sammy was dying, and their wasn't a god damn thing left.

That was when he cried, and cursed his father.

_Fucking john! Fuck him for leaving him here to deal with this alone. Fuck him for making it so that he had to watch his brother die and not do a damn thing about it. Fucking bastard for running off and leaving him with a demon he couldn't save his brother from._

Three months.

They determined that try as they may, surgery would never work and they resorted to chemo and radiation.

He preferred the drilling.

His hair fell out—all of it. He was so god damn sick that he could barely sit up straight. So he hardly realized what happened to his hair until he heard Dean barking at the nurse to get rid of that god damn mirror.

On reflex he ran his hand through his hair and watched the clumps of brown hair flutter down to his lap.

It was stupid and superficial, he knew it was even silly, but that was the first time it really hit him. The first time he wanted to cry.

It was the first time he couldn't hide it from Dean, and Dean did what he always had done when Sam was a kid to make him feel better—joke.

"Well, Sammy, its about damn time we did something about that hair of yours."

Sam demanded, "Cut it off, Dean. Please, just…" He looked up at Dean, pleading with him. He didn't want to watch his hair fall out. "Please."

"Sam, its not that bad, really. You don't want to—

"Dean!" It was a frantic, hysertical sort of cry. He couldn't…anything, but he was not going to watch his hair fall out.

"Okay." Dean felt his eyes watering, but he was not—would not break in front of Sam. He had to be strong for him. "Okay Sam."

--


	2. Chapter 2

**False Pretense**

**-2-**

_Note: So, I had to re-do this entire chapter (thanks to my brother the asshole who thought he was funny and deleted a bunch of stuff from my computer--including a very painfully long, half done, term paper which contributed to the late update) but I think I finally was able to settle on something that I was happy with…and so, I hope you all enjoy it._

* * *

The injections were hard at first, but Sam got used to them, they were better than the mind numbing headaches that made anything from thinking down to eating that crap ass hospital food impossible.

After awhile, he was pretty sure it was harder on Dean. He thought it was all harder on Dean…he was dying and Dean couldn't fix it, and he knew that scared the hell out of his brother.

Dean couldn't handle an enemy he couldn't burn, shoot, or stab. And it was like once again, reality had reared its ugly head to remind him that demons weren't the only ones who wanted a piece.

--

It had been a long standing joke that Dean could get shot or stabbed, and grin and bear it, but was terrified by the sight of needles.

Sam tried to tell him that it was fine, really, and that he didn't have to stay in the room when they did it, but Dean refused,

"You're damaged if you think I'm letting you have all these cute nurses to yourself, man."

And Sam gave up fighting Dean on that, even when Dean's face would drain of blood every time they pulled out a needle, and his fingers, and shoulder went numb from Dean's tight grip.

But he never said anything, all he could think was, _I'm so sorry, Dean, _and he felt so guilty, _I'm so sorry for this._

It was like Jess had told him, dying was the easy part, it was the ones left behind who had the hard time. They were the ones who suffered.

He missed her so much it hurt sometimes.

--

The doctor had explained to Dean that if Sam was going to be insistent on leaving the hospital—

"Not gonna happen," Dean had cleanly interjected.

She just nodded her head, "In the event of those circumstances there will come a time when he will be unable to give himself the injections, and will need your assistance. If you're unable to care for him—

"I can take care of him just fine." Dean's tone was icier than he may have intended but he didn't need a damn person's help to take care of Sammy (especially not from some damn doctor who couldn't even fix him). He'd done just fine taking care of his brother alone all his life, that wasn't going to fucking change now.

"Of course, Mr. Winchester. But if help is needed, we can arrange for some in-home care."

Dean nodded his head, unable to help laughing inwardly. _Home care? _What home? They didn't have a home. They've never had a home.

What was home?

Home was where the heart was, right?

_Bullshit_. Home didn't exist for the Winchesters.

Once again, he was on the precipice of being completely alone, and he was scared to death.

What do you do when you don't have anyone else?

The only good thing he had going for him was he wasn't going to have to spend a lifetime alone. His debt would come due in a few months, and maybe you don't feel loss in hell.

An eternity of feeling nothing, just _nothing _for once in his god damn life would be wonderful.

--

"You want the good news or the bad news first?" Bobby asked him.

"Bobby, I told you to leave me alone." Dean retorted. "I don't give a damn what you have unless one of them is a magic fucking cure to make Sam better."

Bobby handed him a beer, and gestured for him to take a seat. Sam was knocked out with his meds, and it was the _only_ reason that Bobby had managed to convince Dean to get out of the hospital to talk.

Dean took a swig…he needed something stronger. He gestured over the waitress.

"Whiskey." He told her, avoiding Bobby's look. He didn't care to get a '_Do you really think you should be drinking hard liquor right now?' _speech.

He couldn't think of a more appropriate time to drink himself into a stupor.

His baby brother was dying.

What did he do wrong for them to have to take Sam away from him? Was it so much to just not to have to lose one person, to just have his little brother?

How much was one person supposed to handle before they broke?

"I did some research," Bobby told him, ignoring the attitude Dean was giving him…he understood, Dean was scared about losing his brother and he was lashing out. It wasn't going to scare him away though.

"If it isn't going to make Sam better, I really don't give a damn, Bobby. That is the _only_ thing I care about right now."

"Sorry, Dean. But…I did find something that helps. Louisa Jung, a hunter I know…she found something that's going to help you. Word around the demonic inner circle has it that this thing with Sam—

"Thing? Its not a _thing, _Bobby. Its brain cancer."

It's inoperable.

Its _terminal_.

Except it couldn't be, because he couldn't accept that.

"I know. But your deal…its put your deal right to hell. Word has it the demons are having a fit because…because they don't get your soul anymore."

He couldn't breathe. It was like every single one of his faculties vacated his body. _They don't get your soul anymore._

An eternity on this fucking planet alone, that was what that meant. Sam was going to die, and he was going to be here all alone with a sparkling and shiny soul, and what the hell did that get him?

_A soul._

Dean threw some money down on the table. "I have to get back to Sam; I don't want him waking up alone. We'll talk later, 'kay Bobby?"

Bobby shook his head, and sighed. This wasn't going to be easy.

"Yeah, okay."

--

When he got back to the hospital, he heard a commotion down the hall way, in the direction of Sam's room.

His first reaction was panic.

_Sam!_

He broke into a run, stopping at the door of his brother's room.

Where there was nothing of a special nature, except of course for the half dozen doctors and nurses that crowded the room.

And of course, no Sam.

"Where the hell is he?" Dean demanded, he left for one god damn second and all hell broke loose. "Where is my brother?"

The Doctor-what's her name…? Dean couldn't, and didn't care, to remember-replied, "I'm sorry, he seems to have wandered off. I've notified security, and so there is no need to panic."

Not panic? What the fuck…Sam wasn't a golden girl with Alzheimer's, he was a Winchester, and he knew how to shake the Fed's, never mind the rent-a-cops, by the time he was old enough to understand why Dean owned a Victoria's Secret catalog.

Fucking Sam! Dean swore, he was going to find him, and throttle him.

--

He wondered if maybe he'd be struck by lighting. He'd read somewhere, sometime--who the hell knew when--that when evil entered consecrated ground, that sometimes they'd be struck down by lighting.

Dean had told him it was bullshit, and he had been terrified every time they'd walked into Pastor Jim's church, god was going to see all the evil he'd done, he murders he'd committed (it was a sin, wasn't it, no matter what you kill, its still a sin) and god would see fit to strike him down.

Nothing on earth is black and white.

His dad was right there, he may have fought tooth and nail with the man, but if ever John Winchester had been right about something, it was that.

God knew, their life was all different shades of grey.

What did it matter anyways…this was a hospital chapel (backslash quiet room), and thus not even really a church.

Like that mattered a damn anyways, he had to do this-preferably before Dean got back from talking with Bobby because he wasn't really feeling up to humoring his brother when Dean insisted on treating him like he was four.

He was dying, not stupid.

--

When the doctor sent a nurse across the way to check the tavern, Dean could have laughed. Sam would never break out of the hospital without a word to get drunk. That wasn't Sam.

_People in his condition often do things uncharacteristic of their personality, _the doctor reminded him.

Dean didn't care, Sam wasn't out getting drunk.

--

Sam slid into a pew towards the front of the chapel and was quiet for a long time.

He wondered if all that talk about redemption was true. Even the worst of sinners…could find redemption. For him, redemption was saving Dean, even though it meant playing ball with demons. It put things right, the world back in balance…a higher power had to respect that.

He bowed his head, after making the sign of the cross, mumbling, "…the name of the father, son, and holy spirit." and he prayed. He prayed that everything was going to be okay. He wasn't afraid of going to hell, he was ready.

He wasn't ready for Dean though.

He could see it in Dean's eyes, it was the same look he had after their dad died.

Hopelessness.

"Watch over him." He prayed, "Please save him."

--

Dean wasn't surprised when he found Sam in he chapel. Relief made it impossible for him to be angry, because Sam was okay.

He slid into the pew wordlessly next to his brother, and wondered why did it always have to come back to this? What the hell had god ever done for them…if he existed, all he did was fuck them over every time they turned around.

The amount of faith Sam had in this…was unbelievable to him. Especially now.

If there was a god…he hated him for this.

Dean turned to look at Sam, unable to help the anger that was bubbling to the surface as they sat there. He understood Sam's blind faith in this idea once…but he couldn't understand how even now…his brother could come back to this with anything except anger.

"Sam, what the hell are you doing here?" Dean asked.

"Thinking." Sam replied.

"Fantastic." Dean told him, "Nothing that you can't continue doing in your room then."

"I want out Dean." Sam told his brother simply. "I want _out_."

_I know the feeling, _Dean thought. "What do you mean?" He played dumb, Sam always said it was a skill of his.

"You know what I mean, Dean. Please." Sam looked up at him with those begging eyes. "Don't ask me to keep doing this." If Dean asked his too, he would, as much as he wanted to leave this place and die in peace…he'd do it for Dean.

Dean fought back tears as he tried to avoid Sam's unwavering glance. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Dean nodded his head.

"Okay Sam." He assured him, "I'll take care of it."

And he had ever intention of doing that. After all, he'd always taken care of Sam, hadn't he?

--

"Well, well, Dean Winchester," She drawled, circling around him. "Not that I don't cherish making deals with you and yours…but we've already danced this tango as I recall."

"I've got my soul back." He told her, "And you can have it back, all the same terms as before. I just need you to cure Sam."

She tilted her head to the side looking him over. "So, you traded your soul for little Sammy, and due to unforeseen circumstances…you got your soul back…and now you want to trade it again…for Sam?" She could barely take it, it as just _too_ good.

Dean nodded his head. "I know you can do it."

She tilted her head from side to side, contemplating his offer.

Sam's deal was oh so much better. That one earned her brownie points, _not _an all expenses paid trip to hell's east shore; so, no, she wasn't exactly feeling the love for Winchester the elder…she was looking forward to a very long time of keeping her insides right where they belonged.

You don't fuck with Lilith. Lesson number one of the new world.

"You have to do it." Dean demanded, pulling out the Colt, and pointing it at he head; he wasn't going to watch Sam die again, not when he could stop it.

Even his soul wasn't worth that.

"Dean, this isn't deal or no deal…I don't have to do a damn thing." She laughed, "Enjoy your nice, long life. And remember, life is short."

And then she was gone, and he was standing there with a gun, and an eternity of _forever._

He let himself contemplate it for about seventeen seconds.

--


End file.
